


Fell On Black Days

by GibberingGhoul



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 11:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GibberingGhoul/pseuds/GibberingGhoul
Summary: Much to the surprise of his new ally Bojack, Android 13 retains and ruminates over an old heart-wrenching guilt. Hence, the mighty space pirate and his crew fly the humanoid off Earth to enjoy their method of getting the mind off dark thoughts.





	Fell On Black Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joey (williammurderface)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/williammurderface/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Grapple](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288468) by [joey (williammurderface)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/williammurderface/pseuds/joey). 

> This fanfiction is based HEAVILY off role-playing, in which Bojack (played by the author) and Android 13 (played by joey (williammurderface)) became co-conspirators against their shared enemies, then something a bit more...
> 
> In this AU, Android 13 was previously human but more heavily experimented upon than 17 or 18; hence his guilt over the incident in his past.

"Whomsoever I've cured, I've sickened now  
"And whomsoever I've cradled, I've put you down"

\- 'Fell On Black Days," Soundgarden,_ Superunknown_

* * *

_This is definitely _not_ the Arizona desert_, thought Thirteen as he gasped in the hot, dry air.  
  
His lungs felt crushed, as though he were trapped in a tight, stuffy shack that was running low on oxygen. But Bojack had assured him that planet Touie or Tawood or whatever-it-was was mostly hospitable to his form of life. _Mostly._  
  
_For once I wish I really were _all_ robot,_ he thought, grimacing as sweat dripped near his eyes.  
  
As for Bojack and his crew, they seemed to be doing just swell. That kid with the turban and freaky powers was hopping about like, well, a kid, with colourful cushions and a folded blanket hovering in his psychic grip. The goateed strongman hauled two large, scarlet ice chests in his arms without effort. Meanwhile, the girl teased the overburdened swashbuckler as he fumbled with three large platters of food—not that they were heavy, just round and awkward.  
  
“Come along,” said Bojack, patting Thirteen on the shoulder and leading the way to the oasis. “_Mezhniraa_ doesn’t happen by itself!”  
  
Mezhniraa. _Sounds like some kinda Middle Eastern thing_, thought Thirteen, galumphing across the fine sand, his boots sinking halfway with each step.  
  
_Kami_, why couldn't they have parked the ship just a _wee bit_ closer to the damned oasis? Humph. Who was he to complain, though? He _had_ asked Bo to whisk him off the earth, away from all the bastards who kept tripping his guilt. And by Kami, this little jaunt was already taking his mind off his sorrows.  
  
Albeit off to a rough start, he added to himself with a cough.  
  
Once they reached the oasis, though, his sorrows vanished altogether.  
  
The place was _enormous_, more vast than he had imagined. Date palms towered out of the shimmering water and upon its silken shores. Bluegrass dotted the tiny dunes and surrounded shrubs, whose names Thirteen didn't know. And the rocky hills that loomed beside the oasis cradled gold and pink and tangerine flowers in the shade.  
  
“_Dayum…_” Thirteen marvelled.  
  
Then Bido smacked a hand atop his shoulder, much to the chagrin of his reddening skin.  
  
“I take it you like it?” chuckled the towering strongman.  
  
Thirteen exhaled as softly as he could, not wanting to seem hostile... or in _severe_ agony.  
  
“Well! I would if I weren’t so damn vulnerable.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean, I’m pale as snow and getting roasted like a pig.”  
  
“Oh. _Bozhakh-sheyii_!”  
  
Bojack lifted his head as Bujin and Zangya finished perfecting the arrangement of their picnic. Bido yammered in their native tongue, jabbing a thumb in the air toward Thirteen. Bojack smiled and replied, “_Mida_,” and then he asked Bujin for something.  
  
“_Mida_!” exclaimed the little psychic, dashing over to Thirteen and holding his hands before him.  
  
“Y'ain’t gonna hurt me, are you?”  
  
“No, no, no!” laughed the little psychic.  
  
A dull white glow surrounded Thirteen and subsided to reveal a white robe adorning his frame, all with protective hood and sleeves.  
  
“Alright! Let’s eat!” exclaimed Bujin as he dashed back to the circle, seizing a cushion that had to be as big as he was.  
  
Since Thirteen was ‘the Boss’s new treasure,’ he was permitted to sit right next to him, sinking right on a fluffy cushion to beside him. Bido presided over the meal—preparing his master’s plate before making Thirteen’s, then Gokua’s and Zangya’s and Bujin’s and finally his.  
  
Though made with earthling ingredients, all the bitty samples looked alien to Thirteen. One titbit was wrapped in a leaf that had been soaked in what he thought was vinegar. Then there was a hill of what looked like refried beans but had a hell of a kick to it. There was chicken something that was more familiar to his taste buds. And finally some pastries that apparently the swordsman had prepared.  
  
_Mm, mm! Tastes like apples and peaches and flaky, gooey deliciousness._  
  
These weren’t the only items that the Heraans had prepared, and the drinks they had mixed to sample were an interesting lot. But rather than sample any alcohol or drink the strange, fruity drink with the texture and tartness of yoghurt, Thirteen stuck to the water that had a hint of lime.  
  
The conversations were mostly light-hearted, staying as far away from reminiscing about this crime and that murder as possible. Bido regaled them with tales of when Bojack was a teenager, and how he would try to sneak the poor, repressed thing out of his authoritarian father’s home. Occasionally, the stories would lapse into their native tongue, leaving Thirteen a bit feeling a bit resentful for being left out.  
  
But this type of shindig was part of their heritage, so, why wouldn’t they occasionally lapse into what was comfortable to them? Zangya began to open up, gesticulating wildly as she recalled all the fights she had won at her former academy. Bujin fiddled with the tall grasses and flowers and rocks, crafting makeshift shrines on the blanket. Bido goaded Gokua to perform a certain trick with his sword or a feat with his daggers, but Bojack convinced Gokua to sing a traditional song from his home province.  
  
And then any remaining resentment that Thirteen held was released. He had no idea what the lyrics were, but the feeling, the warmth of that voice, the enthusiasm with which he sang—the skilled trilling, every ‘r’ that was rolled to perfection, the ecstatic rise and soft fall—  
  
“Kinda wish I were born in another time,” he whispered to Bojack, “in ’nother place.”  
  
Bojack smirked and leaned close to the android.  
  
As soon as Gokua finished, the crew and Thirteen clapped jubilantly, eliciting a smile and a blush.  
  
“What was that you were singing?” asked Thirteen. “I mean, for those of us who don’t _quite_ speak the language.”  
  
“It’s, uh… about lovers. Like so many songs.”  
  
“Anything naughty?”  
  
The crew laughed.  
  
“No! No,” chuckled Gokua. “It’s about… about how much one lover loves the other. And it’s kind of a… a sad song. About loss and guilt.”  
  
Loss and guilt, eh?Huh... Wasn't that appropriate... And Thirteen had been doing so well! Honestly speaking, he still felt a hell of a lot better than before the trip, but still…  
  
_Here I am havin’ fun, but what about the fun anyone I’ve ever hurt _can't_ have? What about…_  
  
“Hey! Is it safe to… you know… get some privacy out ‘ere?” asked Thirteen.  
  
“Oh, yeah!” replied Bido. “Just go behind those rocks. It’s fine.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
His excursion was less related to a biological urge and more to his returning guilt. Hiding between the rocks, Thirteen gazed at his sad visage in the small pool beneath him.  
  
He didn’t look like a murderer. Hell, he didn’t look much like a criminal. Sure, he fit the red-neck stereotype, and it was really confirmed when he opened his yapper. But he had the face of an otherwise kindly gent.  
  
But he wasn’t kindly. He wasn’t innocent. He had blood on his hands, even before the ‘good’ doctor got his mitts on his body.  
  
He was a murderer. He deserved contempt and damnation, not _this_. Not pleasure of any kind.  
  
“It’s back, huh?”  
  
Gazing slowly up at Bojack, Thirteen smirked one-sidedly.  
  
“Yeah,” he confessed. “Yeah, I suppose it wasn’t meant to last. _Huhhh!_ It was bound to come back some time.”  
  
“Yet your regret does not bring back the dead.”  
  
“No.” Thirteen averted his gaze and shut his eyes. “No, it don’t. And it won’t.”  
  
Heaving a sigh, Bojack joined his side.  
  
“You never meant for it to happen.”  
  
Thirteen snarled. “Yeah, but that don’t matter. What I did got my best friend killed. _My. Best. Friend._ That’s the kinda shit they lecture you about when you are young and dumb and still in school and still inclined to do somethin’ stupid. But it idn’t s’pposed to happen to ya, especially as grown-ass adults!  
  
“O’ course, I feel miserable. Even after all these years. I mean… Even after I got turned into a literal killing machine, I’m still human, Bo. I still got these… these memories.”  
  
Wringing his hands kept him from weeping. Kami, he didn’t want to break down in front of Bo, not after all his effort to create a good time.  
  
“I know this means nothing to earthlings, but where I come from, intention means so much. Context. Being impaired and killing someone was still a grave crime, and you were punished. But corrected and reformed at the same time. You were released, and you moved on.”  
  
“But after killing someone’s son? Their brother or nephew?“

When Bojack started contemplating, his face became stony, almost frightening. Thirteen always wondered and worried when Bo's face got that way, but then the Heraan man replied, "Not that I want this information becoming common, but... I, too, have regret for killing someone, though you would never know it. And if I had not started using the Daraku less, nowadays anyway, I would not think of such a thing or dwell on it. But... I do think about it and wonder if perhaps things could have been different.”  
  
Thirteen harrumphed and glanced at him. “Whadya do? Kill yer mama or somethin’?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Thirteen chuckled, but Bojack did not.  
  
“C’mon. Yer kiddin’, whadya really do?”  
  
“Ellis"—shit, Bojack never used his name, his _real_ name, unless he were _dead_ serious—"I murdered my mother. And while one day I ceased to regret what I did, for the longest time, I regretted it.”

Bojack's sigh sounded more like a snarl. "_Oh!_ How I regretted it!"  
  
Thirteen sat at attention, and in fact, had scooted subconsciously from Bojack. There was _no way_ he had killed his own mama on purpose. Maybe it was like those kids whose mamas died giving birth, and they later blamed themselves. Or maybe there was some accident and Bo couldn’t save his mama, and he had survivor’s guilt. Just…

Thirteen knew Bojack was a killer. He made no bones about it, seemed to revel in it sometimes, but killing his mama on purpose? No person in their right mind killed their mama _on purpose_!  
  
“Why? How?” he finally asked. “Bo…”  
  
“Heh!" Bojack laughed wryly. "I was afraid—_I, afraid!_ I was afraid that… that she thought I was becoming my father. And I didn’t want her memories of me to be like that.”  
  
“The hell?”  
  
“I wanted her to die, but not by my hand, not necessarily. She was supposed to die peacefully in her sleep with me by her side, knowing that her final memories of me concerned me being her dedicated son. I was trying to spare her from what I planned to become with the Daraku.”  
  
That was just too convoluted a reason to kill anyone. There had to be some ulterior motive—money, inheritance, resentment, or even just plain sadism. But distorted ‘mercy’?  
  
Bojack snarled and rose and returned to the crew, leaving Thirteen slumped and raking his hair in confusion and disgust.  
  
_How the fuck do you react to that kinda revelation?_ he wondered._ Fuck! What does he want me to think? Good Kami! This ain’t no damned pissin’ contest! ‘Oh! Hey, what’s worse—killin’ yer friend while drunk-drivin’ or murderin’ yer mama because you are some fucked-up in the head?’ Fuck!_  
  
“Man… Bo! Come back.”  
  
Thirteen returned to a silent but alert crew, each sitting a cautious distance from their brooding master, eyes fixed upon him until the android appeared.  
  
“Bo, listen,” he began. “I… I don’t know how to feel about… _that_. I mean, I just... can’t believe your reason—“  
  
Bojack’s scowl stopped him for just a second.  
  
“—but… I mean, I get why you told it to me. It just isn’t supposed to be something that anyone should related to, y’know? I mean… Damn!”  
  
For a moment those low-lidded eyes looked low not because of genes but due to sheer exhaustion, as though Bo had been up for an entire day and night, racked with guilt. Wrinkles scarred his brow, and those thick lips had turned thin.  
  
“Damn, Bo. I could write a book about you, but it wouldn't be enough. I'd need to write a whole damned trilogy.”  
  
Bojack harrumphed. “Not that you'll be hearing any more secrets any time soon.”  
  
“Hmm..."  
  
Kneeling before the weary space pirate, Thirteen took one of his hands and said, “Bojack. Look, man. We've both made egregious mistakes. Mistakes that done hurt a lot of people. Ain’t no takin’ it back, and well… I can’t judge you. Can’t be the pot callin’ the kettle black.  
  
“There are things we should have in common, y’know—good food, good drink, hangin’ out under a sun or binary system or what-not, listenin’ to comrades regalin’ us and singin’ to us. I wanna have _those_ in common. I don’ wanna be reckless while doin’ any of that, but I do wanna remake my life. And maybe help remake yours.”  
  
Though solemn, a smile did return to Bojack’s face.  
  
“Why are you so damned corny when you’re trying to make a point?”  
  
“You say corny, but I prefer sincere.”  
  
“Hmm!” That was the smile Thirteen wanted to see!  
  
“Hey, Boss?” began Bido cautiosly. “Does this mean we can go back to feastin’ and bein’ more celebratory?”  
  
“Yes, Bido, you can smash your face in the _hunsitva_ that Zangya made—“  
  
“Wait, what?” Zangya’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare!”  
  
“_Hell, yes, I dare_!”  
  
As Zangya roared at Bido, using vulgarities that Thirteen didn’t understand, and Bujin wedged himself between them in a fruitless effort to de-escalate the situation, the android recline beside the space pirate as he told tales of Bido’s mischief-making at parties, and almost always with this _hunsitva_ dip. And as the day faded into evening, with insects chirping and the little vulpine creatures that fed on them yelping, Thirteen forgot his guilt and Bojack’s guilt, remembering only the present as it happened.


End file.
